Falling into the Darkness
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: Chronological episode tags and missing scenes for season three. SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE!
1. Chapter 1

AN: This series will be episode tags for all twenty episodes of Season 3. Because of this, I'm giving one big '**spoiler warning**' here. This complete series will be spoilers for season 3. The episode tags will go in order and will be Sheppard centric. The basic idea was to focus on the small H/C bits we didn't get to see, but also to highlight any damage afterwards, emotional and physical.

**Aftermath**

Damn, but Sheppard had a headache. Between his ship being blasted, the oxygen deprivation, and the general lack of sleep during the trip back to Atlantis…yeah, his head ached like it'd been used as a drum.

McKay and Zelenka (along with a lot of other people) had managed to rig the Daedalus to pump enough oxygen into the bridge, and with Michael driving the hive ship full of Daedalus personnel and prisoners, they limped back to Atlantis. When Sheppard walked into the city, he _might_ have said a little prayer of thanks to himself, because there'd been moments where he'd wondered if he was ever going to see it again.

Rescue Ronon and McKay…that'd been about as far as he'd thought ahead when he'd landed on the hull of the hive ship and locked on.

Pretty colors notwithstanding, the trip through hyperspace with a dwindling oxygen supply had been a little disconcerting.

Alls well that ends well is a motto he subscribed fully to, so, they were alive, and overall, headache and general muscle aches aside, today was a pretty good day.

"Colonel, it is good to see you."

Teyla grasped his arms and they did that head touch thing. While she had her head still bent, her murmurs were for him only. "We thought we had lost you…again."

He had to smile at the soft accusation. Pulling away, he said, "I'm the bad penny, remember?"

A long time ago, it felt like lifetimes, he'd explained the saying. Another mission, another near miss. There'd been a hell of a lot more since then. Before he could find something reassuring to say, Beckett came jogging up the stairs. The command deck was humming with activity as the personnel from the ships filtered down, while repair crews went back up. They had a ship full of de-wraithified prisoners, and Elizabeth was still on Earth, and would be until the Daedalus could get on her feet enough to begin the journey back.

"Colonel Sheppard, Son, did you not get my message?"

Of course, just in time for him to have to fight back a wince, his headache thrummed that little bit harder. "Doc, you've had an infirmary full of wounded; my post mission check could wait."

"Aye," he agreed. "_You_ would think that." Beckett's face was a hundred and ten percent stern irony. "But you'd be wrong, now, infirmary and then when you're cleared, you can get back to…" He looked at Teyla, then Sheppard, and the milling room full of people. "Whatever it is you were doing," he said with a weary sigh.

"Colonel, I believe I can manage a little while longer." Teyla took a report from a tech and thanked the woman, before fixating again on Sheppard. "Colonel Caldwell will be here once he finishes going over necessary repairs with Hermiod, I believe."

Sheppard really was tired, and his head did ache enough that he felt it down to his teeth, so maybe a few moments to let Carson have his reassurance and scam some Tylenol wouldn't be so bad.

"All right, Doc, you win," he agreed. "Teyla, if you need me --"

She pushed him towards Beckett firmly. "I know where to find you, go, Colonel. And, John?" she raised an eyebrow at him when he turned to look. "It is good to see you alive and well."

Sheppard had to keep reminding himself they thought he'd died. "It's good to be alive," he smiled.

Then Doc was pulling him towards the stairs, and his headache erased his grin. Damn, mental note, having your ship blown almost in half was bad on the body. Carson prodded him for details during the walk to the infirmary. Sheppard explained how he'd latched onto the hive ship, and got a hold of Michael on the radio while trying to contact McKay and Ronon, then how when they were trying to damage the ship, the Daedalus has arrived, good timing and all that, and the last minute plan to save their lives by taking over the hive ship.

He might have left off a couple important things, like his ship being hit, but aside from the vise crushing his skull and neck, he was good. Headaches don't kill you, least not, most of them. And Sheppard was pretty sure he'd know if it was serious. It'd happened over ten hours ago and he was still on his feet.

"Colonel, I see Carson got his fingers on you finally."

"McKay," Sheppard drawled.

Rodney was lying on an exam bed across from where Carson steered Sheppard, and as he got stiffly on it, he studied the man as subtlety as he could. They hadn't gotten a lot of time to catch up on what'd happened to him and Ronon, but Sheppard had seen the cocoons. He knew how freaked he would've felt being stuck in one of those things…so, that means McKay had probably been a step ahead of digging his grave.

As Carson began strapping a cuff to Sheppard's arm, he said, "Rodney's fine. He and Ronon were dehydrated, but otherwise good. Ronon all ready left but I'm keeping Rodney for a little bit more."

Sheppard jerked his head slightly towards Rodney. "That's probably a good idea."

Sitting down, on the other hand, had been a bad idea. No, a _really_ bad idea. Nothing like feeling the events suddenly catch up to you in the span of a heartbeat. As heavy as his body felt just then, it felt like he was pulling G's in his fighter.

After Beckett was finished with his vitals, he set John's chart on the bed next to Sheppard, and pulled the penlight out. "Look at me, Colonel."

He did what he was told and tried not to flinch as the light made his headache instantly worse. Sheppard fought against wincing, but it was mostly reflexive. Beckett pulled the light away and frowned at him. "Did you hit your head?"

Rodney stopped fiddling with his IV and fixed on Sheppard.

John paused too long, trying to figure out a way to deal with this. If he told them his fighter had been almost blown in two, odds were good, he wasn't leaving here until the mandatory twenty-four observation period for any pilot involved in an aircraft accident. Not that there'd been much _accident_…

"Colonel, just how did you get on the hive ship?"

That'd come from McKay.

Trying to look, you know, like it wasn't a big deal, Sheppard shrugged. "I don't know, some kind of tractor beam I guess."

"You guess?" Beckett asked. He held up his index finger and ordered, "Follow with your eyes only, Colonel."

"Either it was, or it wasn't, Sheppard, and it'd be nice to know if the wraith have that kind of technology, because before now, we haven't seen any evidence whatsoever to that effect, so think hard," McKay suggested.

For Rodney, there wasn't much of an edge to his voice that normally would've been there, so either he was tired or he was actually concerned.

"Look," Sheppard started, feeling like he was losing ground here, "I don't know. There was a lot going on at the time." Like he'd been unconscious in the wrecked fighter, or merely stunned from the impact, hell, he couldn't even say for sure which one.

Carson lowered his finger and folded his arms. "Colonel, your neurological exam suggests you suffered some form of head trauma. I sincerely suggest you come clean about what happened, otherwise, I'll have no choice but to order a battery of tests to rule out other causes."

Damn it. This wasn't a good time to be in this situation. Elizabeth was gone, Caldwell had his hands full with the Daedalus, they had a hive ship full of prisoners…

"My ship was disabled by a hit from a Dart. I don't remember much until I was being hauled through a corridor by some wraith. That's it." Succinct was probably good here. He'd told the truth, so, that should do. "I feel fine; slight headache. Doc, I've been going nonstop since then and I haven't suffered anything that would make me think it was important."

"Your ship was disabled how?" McKay had given up any pretense of resting and had pushed himself into a sitting position, the IV still between the fingers in his right hand, rolling the tube absentmindedly. "Seriously, Sheppard, if they've got some kind of weapon that can disable our fighters --"

God damn it, McKay, he was like a pit bull sometimes. Frustrated, Sheppard accepted he wasn't getting out of here without fessing up. Gritting his teeth, he explained, "I took fire, my wing was disintegrated and next thing I know, I was in the hands of the bad guys. Is that enough, or would you like to go back to the hive ship and dig out the black box?"

Carson's face transformed between surprise, to irritability, before stopping on concern as Sheppard finished his explanation.

"Bloody hell, Colonel, you were shot out of commission, lost consciousness and I'm only now hearing about it?" He picked up Sheppard's chart and waved down a nurse. "Get a CT scan on the colonel ASAP."

"I'm fine," Sheppard insisted again through clenched teeth. "I've got a headache, but last time I checked, that's fairly normal for having your head smashed against something hard." He realized what he said and sighed, letting his eyes close momentarily before trying again. "I was wearing a crash helmet."

Rodney snorted.

Carson rolled his eyes and agreed with McKay. "The insides of your brain sloshing against your skull won't be helped by a crash helmet. Odds are, you're fine, like you say, but Colonel, you owe me the right as your doctor to be the one to certify you as unharmed after that kind of trauma to the head, am I clear?"

Dejectedly, and too damn tired to argue further, Sheppard nodded, wincing at the pain radiating from the base of his skull into his spine. "Got it. Since I'm going to be here until after the scan, how about some Tylenol for the headache?"

"Nice try, Lad," Carson smiled and patted his knee. "But you know procedure. Twenty-four hours and barring any complications, you'll be free."

"Not going to happen, Doc. We've got a hive ship in orbit, a crippled Daedalus and we're missing one key person. If the scan's clean, I've got work to do."

Thrusting a set of scrubs at Sheppard, Carson shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Colonel. You know better. As CMO, my say is final, and I'll not send you off and have you dropping from a bleed on the brain. Be good, and I'll let Teyla visit you here with anything important enough to warrant it…"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "And who decides if it's important enough?"

With a nonplussed smile, Beckett said, "Me, of course. Besides, Rodney will be kept here for most of that time as well and I'm sure you have plenty to catch up on after almost dying together, again."

As he walked away, Sheppard looked over at McKay, who'd settled back down on his bed, pulling his blanket over his own scrubs-clad body, no longer fiddling with his IV. Rodney shook his head. "Don't look at me that way, I'm not the one that kept the whole 'being blown up in my ship by the wraith' secret." His face scrunched. "I was more than forthcoming about being stunned and cocooned."

"Fine," Sheppard grated. He moved off the bed, slowly, and yanked his curtain around for privacy. Undressing and getting into the scrubs wasn't a fast process because every muscle hurt after being thrown about in the cockpit; bruises along his side from the harness. Yeah, once Carson saw those he was even more screwed.

Finally into scrubs, he put up with being wheeled off to the CT scan in a wheelchair, feeling ridiculous the whole way.

When Carson came to report the scan was clear he did let slip an, "I told you so."

"Aye, and I'd rather hear that then get a call for a medical emergency and finding you dead on the floor, if it's all the same. Now, you have another," Carson looked at his watch, "twenty hours. The bruises will fade, I'm prescribing some Motrin to help with the muscle aches and now that your scan is clear I'll give you something a little stronger than Tylenol for the headache. If anything comes up, I'll wake you, promise."

McKay was all ready sleeping, and most of the patients had been treated and dealt with. The wounded hadn't been as bad as they'd thought. Those that weren't dead, had small things like contusions and burns. Caldwell had reported about an hour ago that the Daedalus would be ready to leave in less than a day.

His headache was still pounding hard enough to make him feel slightly sick now, and the temptation to sleep it off was strong enough that he nodded. "All right, Doc. But you make sure if anything happens, I know about it."

"You'll be the second."

Narrowing his eyes, Sheppard held out his arm for the nurse to start the IV line. "First," he corrected Carson.

Beckett chuckled. "Teyla would have to tell me first, Son. Now get some rest." He hovered while the nurse finished, and injected the sedative/pain killer combination.

Rest. He could do that…at least for a little while.

**To be continued…after Misbegotten!**


	2. Chapter 2

**we, the tortured few**

I held onto my glass of scotch malt whiskey in one hand and the frame containing my diploma in the other. One was a source of relief, the other, guilt. _First, do no harm…_

Setting the frame before for me on the desk, I tossed back the remnants in my glass, and closed my eyes against the disgust I felt. I was playing a bloody game with lives out here. With everyone's lives and doing things I had no business doing. It didn't matter that I'd begun work on the retrovirus for the right reasons: To find a solution to our problem with the wraith that would save lives.

Instead of having to commit genocide in order to live, everyone would have won. The wraith would've been turned back to what they should've been. They _were_ humans, before the Iratus bug had changed them irrevocably into the monsters they are now. I'd told myself over and over again, I was only fixing a mistake of nature.

Michael.

When he was a wraith prisoner, with no name, and no voice except the mindless threats he'd uttered at us, it'd been easier to tell myself I was doing this for the right reasons. He'd have murdered me, Colonel Sheppard, Teyla, Rodney…any of us, and he wouldn't have thought twice about it, or considered the lives he'd taken. We were _food_.

But when I'd converted him a second time, he wasn't just a wraith. He was a being that had saved Sheppard, Rodney and Ronon. Had helped them escape, then helped them live by flying the hive ship to Atlantis. He'd turned on his people, had learned to consider us as more than food. He'd _learned_. Michael was more than just another wraith, even if his intentions had always been far from altruistic.

It was unfortunate that he was also the worst security risk we'd faced yet. He knew more about us than any wraith ever had. He'd lived amongst us, escaped, allied with us, and then we'd kept him prisoner again, changing him without his agreement. He'd fought off the effects of the memory loss, and I still didn't know if it was something to do with him in particular, an aberration in his physiology, or if others would have as well, if he hadn't been there to interfere.

I didn't know what bothered me more; the thought that if we'd kept Michael separate, all those lives might have been saved, or the thought that my mind still returned time and time again to focusing on where the error in the retrovirus was, rather than the horrific outcome.

Tiredness washed over me, both physical and mental. It was late, and I had no patients even if Janet would've allowed me to be on call tonight. The effects of the mind probe didn't seem to linger, but I knew I was more shaken than I'd ever been before, and considering what had happened in the last two years, that was saying a great deal. I'd had to face some terrible truths while strapped to that gurney, and they hadn't disappeared in the rescue.

As I poured another glass, I realized they wouldn't ever disappear.

"Doc?"

His voice slid over me and I jerked, accidentally spilling a small amount of the expensive Glenmorangie. "Colonel," I greeted as evenly as possible.

The man in me didn't want to deal with him right now. He'd argued with me about trying to save the wraith we'd turned human. He'd been okay with leaving those turned men to revert back into wraith, and turn cannibals, feeding off each other. What none of us had known at the time was their ability to connect and send a call through space. And then he'd murdered a hundred, without trying to save any. I wanted to hate Sheppard, to blame everything on his shoulders because it was so much easier than looking in a mirror and knowing how much of this burden I bore.

I'd created the retrovirus, and it'd almost killed Sheppard.

"Care to talk about it?"

He was still hanging in the doorway, lazy and unconcerned, but he wasn't fooling me. I'd been his doctor for too long. Sheppard was feeling a lot of things, and least of all was anger…at me, at Elizabeth…the wraith, himself. More than anything, he was feeling the weight of what he'd done. As his friend, I gestured to the chair in front of me. "I'm not sure how much talking I'd be interested in, Colonel, but care to share a drink?"

The relief was strong. Some people might've missed it, but I didn't. Looking at those hollow eyes made me thankful I hadn't sent him away. Maybe what I needed to restore my own sense of empathy was to see the pain in everyone else around me, instead of focusing on my own.

I had an extra glass in the drawer where I kept the bottle, and took one out now, hoping the man had enough sense to have eaten when we got back. Sheppard was all ready running on empty before this, his concussion not the least of his problems. We'd had a lot to cope with; before and after Elizabeth had returned.

Rodney had asked Sheppard to try and pilot the hive ship, thinking perhaps the traces of Iratus DNA would make a difference. It hadn't, and I hadn't admitted how much relief that brought me. The thought that I might have left him irretrievably changed to the degree that the wraith technology responded to him almost made me ill.

Pouring him half a glass, I watched as he sat. He took it gratefully, and smiled half-heartedly, raising it towards me. "Here's to living another day."

"At what cost?" I replied bitterly. My glass stayed firmly on my desk.

His lips thinned. "At whatever cost we have to pay, Carson." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he took a sip instead, staring at me over the rim of his glass.

I smiled grimly, afraid the cost was going to be too high for our souls in the end. We might wind up saving the galaxy, but there wouldn't be anyone to save us. We'd be damaged irretrievably in the process; how could we live with the burdens we were accruing against our consciences?

Raised on morality, taught that there were lines in the sand worth dying for, and maybe, if it had been only our own lives, we would've stayed true to those ethics, but it wasn't our lives, it was a galaxy, stunted and fed upon. An _entire_ galaxy. We were selling our souls to the devil so that thousands, maybe millions, might live.

Yet this…it went beyond the pall of wrong. I'd chastised the Hoffans for far less than what I'd done with the retrovirus. I met his gaze, and we held it, for long enough to exchange things that can't be said. He knew I was hurting, suffering. Knew I hated what I'd done, what he'd done. And I knew he'd believed there was never any choice in the outcome. He'd understood long before I had that the retrovirus was a bad idea. You don't try to turn your enemy into 'one of us' because no matter how much they might seem changed on the outside, they could still put a knife in your back when you weren't looking.

You can bring a sheep into the house. Put clothes on its back, pretend that there isn't anything different between you and it, but when you have nothing to eat and your choice is to starve or kill that sheep you've made into a friend…the clothes, the companionship wouldn't matter, because in the end, that sheep is still _food_.

We drank in quiet after that, my emotions drained, leaving me feeling incredibly empty. I saw the same emptiness in Sheppard's eyes, and felt the odd impulse to hold him close; something I couldn't, and wouldn't do.

The bottle grew emptier, and I know we were both drunk.

Sheppard had grown tipsy fast. I saw it in his uncoordinated drinks, the tumbler hitting the table sooner than he'd expected on the return trip, the glassy look in his eyes. I'm not sure what prodded me into what I did next. Maybe the fact that I was drunk myself, and wanted to hear him admit to feeling what I felt.

"Does it eat at you, Colonel…what we did?"

He pulled the glass away from his lips, and narrowed his eyes sloppily at me. When he spoke, his voice was husky with scotch, rough and tired. "I think," he said solemnly, "that it's going to devour me before we win, Doc."

TBC…after Irresistible


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This is for episode 3x03 Irresistible. Because of the nature of the episode, I went a little overboard with this episode tag! Hope you enjoy it._**  
**_

_**The Traveling Gourd**_

_**OoO **_

Elizabeth watched as Rodney left, following after John, and made a mental note to have a small talk to Rodney about drugging his team leader for maid purposes. With folded arms, she raised an eyebrow at Teyla and Ronon. "Make sure --"

"We will," Teyla replied, two mental steps ahead of Elizabeth's thoughts.

With a feral edge that made Elizabeth smirk, Ronon added, "After he finishes."

"Ronon," Carson warned.

The runner shrugged, ignoring Teyla's irritated look, and made no move to leave. "He said I fawned." As if that explained everything.

"You _did_," Elizabeth said. Everyone had – including her -- and though she had to admit, John's teasing was wearing a little thin, that didn't mean she condoned Rodney's little experiment. "Go, _now_."

As Teyla dragged the bigger man away, Elizabeth overheard Teyla hissing, "You at least were able to shoot him earlier, be thankful for that."

She shared a smile with Carson as they turned and headed towards her office. Elizabeth imagined that the teasing wasn't confided to her, or Carson. Seeing how Teyla, Ronon and McKay were on his team, and they had to spend far more time in each other's company, it was a good bet that John hadn't let the 'seventh wife' comment rest, or Ronon's eagerness in collecting the drug.

"I don't know what the lad's complaining for? Colonel Sheppard kidnapped, tied me up and forced me to undergo a very painful withdrawal. The rest of you got the serum and benefited. I can promise you, it was a far sight better than cold turkey." Carson moved toward her desk, as Elizabeth angled for her chair sitting behind. Forlornly he added, "I haven't even gotten the satisfaction of administering his injection."

Settling in her chair, Elizabeth pushed away the newest report, noting how it was twice as thick as usual. Considering they had been otherwise preoccupied and distracted because of Lucius' influence, the regular data bursts and reports were backlogged and needed to be sorted, sent and filed…and signed. Everything always needed to be signed. "It might be a good idea to do that now." Not only because of Rodney's little experiment, but somehow Elizabeth doubted Lucius was going to go quietly back to a life of ignominy.

"Aye, I'm sure Rodney wouldn't take it too far --" Carson started to say, perched uncomfortably on the corner of Elizabeth's desk, when his eyes locked on to the lumpy brownish-green gourd and tallow candle, and he drifted off, distracted by the reminder.

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Elizabeth agreed quickly. She followed his gaze to the gourd, and idly contemplated the ugly object. When Lucius had first presented it to her, it'd been all she could do to not laugh. She wasn't laughing now. Clearing her throat of the embarrassment the gourd made her feel, _again_, she stood and lifted the object, staring at it with distaste. "But let's not tempt the temptable, shall we?" After all, maybe Lucius had begun down his road with good intentions, and the herb had an affect similar to the sarcophagus the Gou'ald used. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And to think, she'd actually _wanted_…

"Before I go," Carson started. He looked even more uncomfortable than before. "I need to know if you…I mean, as your doctor, I'd need to run some tests in case…"

"Carson?" Elizabeth asked archly. "What are you trying to say?"

He looked miserably at the floor. "Elizabeth, you and Lucius…you didn't ever…"

Elizabeth didn't know what embarrassed her more, the blushing she felt down to the roots on her scalp, or the fact that Carson was asking such a personal question in the first place, doctor or not. Shoving the gourd at his chest harder than was necessary, she said, "No, I didn't."

The shove was hard enough that it pushed him off balance, and the small part of his ass that was on the desk suddenly found itself over open air. Carson had to scramble to get his feet under him, and grab the gourd when she released it from her grip. He clutched the ugly decoration and grimaced. "You know I had to ask, STD's can be dangerous, Elizabeth."

"Fine," she acknowledged frostily. "You have your answer, I'm sure you have other…personnel…to quiz." She hadn't been the only female mooning over Lucius. The memory caused her to shudder again. Shoving those thoughts in the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, Elizabeth pointedly sat back in her chair, and opened the depressingly fat file. She really was going to be paying for this fiasco for days, in paperwork alone.

And if anyone else insinuated that she'd actually slept with that despicable man, she was liable to say something she'd regret. The fact that she knew she would've, if John hadn't been safe from the influence and saved them all…no, don't go there. What's done is done, and she hadn't, period.

An awkward pause ensued, and she looked up from the first report that she was supposed to be reading, but was more along the lines of skimming with her eyes, waiting for Carson to leave. It was about how much food consumption had ensued while Lucius was on Atlantis (way above normal). Instead of leaving, Carson was still standing self-consciously in front of her desk. She raised an eyebrow in question.

He shifted on his feet and held the gourd out. "What am I to do with this?"

"What ever you want," she answered stiltedly. Inwardly, her thoughts were ranging towards burn it, crush it, even tossing it at the initial deadly reflux of the event horizon.

Carson stared at her, then at the gourd. With a tired sigh, he tucked it reluctantly close to his chest and left. Elizabeth watched until he was out of earshot then chuckled, feeling the first glimmers of amusement. His question had been a fair one, considering how prolific Lucius was back on his planet, but she was in no way going to let him off easy. Especially considering that his breach of protocol was what started the complete and utter loss of control and common sense for all of them. Elizabeth shoved away the guilty thought about how she was doing her own version of Sheppard's taunting.

OoO

Carson headed to the small alcove in the infirmary that served as his work station when he wasn't in his office. He set the gourd down, both wary of it, and amused. The creepy thing was serving as a talisman to the entire disaster that he'd instigated. If it hadn't been for Colonel Sheppard's cold who knows what might've happened.

"Uh, Doc?"

Looking up from the gourd, Carson saw Sheppard standing awkwardly at the door. Speak of the devil… "Yes, Colonel? What can I do for you?"

"Can I…talk to you for a second?"

Straightening self-consciously, he fought against the urge to pick the gourd up and hold it in front of him in a protective gesture. "No offense, Colonel, but the last time you said that, you shot me."

Sheppard brought his hand to his mouth and coughed painfully, before pulling it down, clearing his throat and wincing, whether it was from the memory, or the coughing, Carson wasn't sure.

"Yeah, about that…"

All right, maybe he felt a small clench of guilt. The colonel _was_ sick, and considering the circumstances he'd done the only reasonable thing. Really, it was flattering that the one Sheppard had kidnapped to solve the problem was him, not Rodney or Zelenka. "I suppose I had it coming," he admitted ruefully. "Now, what would you be needing?"

"About that cold of mine…"

Of course. Carson shook his head at himself. The poor man had been coughing and sneezing for a few days before, and all the running around probably hadn't helped. Walking away from his desk, Carson took Sheppard's arm and steered him towards an exam bed. "Have a seat, Colonel, and let's get a look at you." Surreptitiously, Carson was all ready doing just that. The colonel looked under the weather, to be sure. In essence, he could describe Sheppard with one word, and it'd serve well enough. He was drooping.

As Carson pulled the colonel towards the nearest bed, Sheppard kept looking over his shoulder, and finally turned to Carson, asking, "Is that the gourd Lucius gave Elizabeth?" His voice a mixture of surprise, irritation and something else Carson couldn't pin down.

"It is," Carson said, blocking Sheppard's view of it. "Up with you now." He patted the sheet on the gurney.

Sheppard hopped up, saying, "I was gonna throw it off the balcony." He had to abruptly cover his mouth as another round of coughing shook his body.

Ah. So that was the 'indefinable' else. Sheppard wanted to take a bit of frustration out on the wee object. "It would float." Carson's answer was distracted as he looked for a nurse to take Sheppard's vitals, before he remembered sending the one off to inventory, and the other to check with personnel to make sure there weren't any ill effects from the serum. He'd be stuck doing all the work-up on Sheppard, and any other patient that came in for the remainder of the day, most likely. "Open up, and give me a nice 'ahh', Colonel."

When Sheppard did, Carson looked at his throat with the penlight, pushing down his tongue with the wooden depressor. "Mmmmm, you're throat's definitely red, but it doesn't look like strep."

Sheppard looked uncomfortable, as he fought off another cough.

"Colonel?" Carson tossed the depressor in the trash and folded his arms, waiting. "Is there something specific about your cold that has you worried?"

"Doc…"

Sighing, he pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and settled it in his ears. Colonel Sheppard never did have an easy time admitting to ailments and injuries. Carson wasn't sure if it was because he hated being seen as less than capable, or if he'd had a family member with a chronic illness. Maybe both. It was something Carson had seen plenty of times before, and the colonel wasn't the only one on Atlantis that tended to be as uncomfortable with describing pain and symptoms.

Putting his medical degree to work, Carson did a mental walk through of complications one could get from a cold and began by starting with the most common. "Shortness of breath?"

"A little."

Sheppard answered in the most 'it's really not that big of a deal' way, which meant it was likely worse than what Carson wanted to find. He helped Sheppard out of his uniform jacket and pulled the colonel's t-shirt free from the waistband, slipping the diaphragm of the stethoscope up against the colonel's back. He started with the right side and made a mental note of the heat radiating from Sheppard's skin. "Deep breath in," he instructed softly.

The small rattle didn't surprise him. He listened to the left, then moved to the front before standing back and frowning at Sheppard. "If I'm right, you've got a bit of pneumonia in your lower right lobe."

"What's up with that?" Sheppard adjusted his shirt and stretched out flat on the bed as Carson pressed a guiding hand on the colonel's shoulder. "I thought I was getting better."

Carson positioned the scanner in place and powered it up, answering as he made sure it was in line to run along the side of the gurney. "That's typical, Colonel. Secondary infections tend to come after a lull in the initial illness. Now, hold still." Holding the tablet in his hand, he followed behind, skimming the information beginning to scroll across the screen. Yes…there it was. Not too large or serious, yet.

Pausing the scanner, Carson flipped it to internal view. A virtual picture of Colonel Sheppard's body appeared, rotated, then focused on the right lung, stripping away layers to show the spot he'd instructed it to. "See here," he said, pointing with his stylus. When Sheppard elbowed himself up enough to look, Carson continued, "A small pneumonia, and you've a low grade fever, so looks like we've caught it early."

Sheppard flopped loosely back against the gurney. "Great." He coughed harshly, winced and asked the inevitable. "I guess I'm off duty?"

"Is that so bad, Colonel? You've had a busy week, a little down time would be good for you," he said, turning off the equipment and rolling it off to the side, Carson finished his patient notes, including entering medication orders that would be relayed to the pharmacy lab who would then send a technician up with what he needed. He also administered an injection of broad spectrum antibiotic and the serum, just in case. Once that was done, Carson set the tablet down on his desk and regarded Sheppard as he tiredly sat. "Read that book of yours --"

"I'm ahead of schedule."

Some days Carson got the distinct feeling he was a pediatrician more than a geneticist, in no small part to one irascible Colonel, and another Rodney McKay. Smiling pleasantly, Carson took the gourd from the desk, and intercepted the newly arrived technician carrying Sheppard's medication, taking the bag holding the two bottles. He shoved both at the colonel's chest. "Take the antibiotic twice today, once for seven days after, the other bottle is optional, but it'll help loosen the congestion so I advise you take it." Without giving Sheppard a chance to complain further about the change in duty status, Carson headed into his office. Peace and quiet. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

"Doc? What am I supposed to do with this thing?" Sheppard called after him.

He didn't need to look to know the colonel meant the gourd. "Float it, sink it, make a side dish, just go and get some rest, Colonel!"

OoO

Sheppard kind of figured Carson could've been a little more sympathetic. He did have _pneumonia, _and he probably got it saving their virtues…among other things. Staring at the gourd, he idly wondered about the side dish comment. Stewed, baked, sugar and cinnamon? "That'd probably work if it wasn't hollow, John," he muttered to himself.

He slipped off the gurney, and wondered what to do now. Off duty, and he really felt too sick for anything normal…like practicing with Teyla, or Ronon. Running, target practice. All of those lacked a serious amount of appeal.

Sleeping. That's what sounded like the best thing to do.

He dragged his feet the entire way to his quarters, glaring at anyone stupid enough to stare at the gourd clutched in his hands. You know, the thing kind of had an attractive edge to it, in a feminine, curvy kind of earthy way. And he could bring it out whenever anyone was obnoxious, just as a reminder, that's all.

Once the door closed behind him and he was safely in his quarters, Sheppard let loose with the cough that had been building ever since he'd left the infirmary. With one hand covering his mouth, even though he wasn't around anyone, he set the gourd on his desk, and the brown bag, shaking out the bottles. Zithromax, that was the antibiotic. Popping the lid, Sheppard shook one onto his palm, closed the lid, and aimed for his bathroom to get a cup of water.

He really was tired, and achy, and tired.

Dropping onto his bed, Sheppard wrapped himself in the blanket, thinking he'd just close his eyes for a minute, maybe two…

"Sheppard!"

Opening one eye, Sheppard was startled to see McKay staring at him, the worried look quickly replaced with one of feigned annoyance that wasn't fooling anyone. "Unless you're here to clean my room, you might want to run," he rasped.

McKay pulled back. "I all ready apologized for that, admittedly large, lapse in judgment."

He wasn't going to leave.

Reluctantly, Sheppard opened both eyes.

"What do you want?" Sheppard didn't bother pointing out the manners in knocking, seeing how he never extended the courtesy to McKay either.

"Elizabeth told me that Carson had the gourd, but then Carson said he gave it to you, so where is it?"

He almost pointed at the desk behind McKay, where the thing was resting in plain view, but then his mind caught up to the fact that it was resting in _plain view_.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." Sheppard didn't quite hide the touched smirk. McKay was worried about him. How…sweet.

McKay's jaw came up, and he fixed his best 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression, and all Sheppard had to do was raise his eyebrow just so, and McKay crumbled. "Right. The gourd's behind me, isn't it?"

Not saying a word, Sheppard pointed his finger to the side of McKay.

Nodding knowingly, McKay spun on his heels and grabbed it. When he turned back to look at Sheppard, he might as well have had 'guilt' painted across his forehead. Sheppard knew McKay's trip to his room had nothing to do with the lumpy vegetable, and McKay knew he knew. Feeling a little edge of spite, just because he was sick, and feverish, and McKay hadn't been able to admit he _cared_, Sheppard said, "That's mine. I had plans for that gourd, McKay."

"It's not yours." McKay sent a glare tempered by the _not-caring_. "Besides, my plans are ultimately better than your plans."

"You were going to have Lucius' face carved into it and have it miraculously turn up again on Elizabeth's desk?" Sheppard kept a serious face when he asked, because really, if it _was_ better than that, he wanted to hear it. Not that he'd really meant to do it. In this one, it was probably true that it's the thought that counts, because the real deal would probably be one of the stupidest things he'd ever do.

McKay's face went slack. "You were really going to do that? Are you nuts – do you know what kind of missions we'd be stuck with for the next month?"

Sheppard coughed, momentarily losing his ability to talk, and that made McKay come over, awkwardly patting him on his back, like Sheppard was some choking kid or something. He waved McKay off spluttering, "Water."

The cup was thrust into his hand and for a few seconds (maybe even a minute) Sheppard was distracted by his need to breathe. By the time he regained his composure, McKay and the gourd were gone.

"I wasn't really gonna do it!" he shouted at the closed door, disgruntled. Shit. Leave it to McKay to put a vegetable in protective custody.

OoO

Rodney had plans for the gourd, and it certainly wasn't fair that the only one on Atlantis that hadn't suffered the embarrassing effects of Lucius' herb had the object in his possession.

Granted, he _had_ stopped at Sheppard's quarters to see for himself that the 'touch of pneumonia' wasn't anything serious, life threatening or otherwise damning, but he'd also been looking for the gourd. When Sheppard had caught on to his _excuse _Rodney had needed to aim for distracting.

And really, was Sheppard serious, or just yanking his chain, because carving Lucius' face and making the thing appear on Elizabeth's desk was mission suicide. Rodney could always claim he was just looking out for Sheppard's interests when the colonel caught up to him. As for the gourd, his idea was sheer brilliance. He'd all ready built the wheel assembly, power and voice playback. All he had to do was outfit the vegetable and give it a test run. Maybe that, and a little paint job.

Grinning from ear to ear, Rodney picked up his pace. This was going to be one for the record books.

OoO

Ronon twirled into a jump kick, his foot landing perfectly on the hanging sand bag with a satisfying jolt. He'd left McKay's quarters, after making sure Sheppard was heading towards the infirmary and not cleaning, and then went straight for this room they called the gym. Whatever name they called it, to him it was a place to get out his frustrations more and more. He'd been in here a lot since they'd turned that wraith into a human and given him a name. _Michael_. They could call it anything they wanted, it didn't change the fact that it'd still been a wraith.

And now he'd been turned into a mindless follower by some herb.

Sometimes he wondered if staying here had been such a bright idea. Ronon's lips curled in disgust as he remembered with excruciating detail how he'd laughed and become Lucius' body guard. Lucius had had Ronon do his dirty work, and he'd been happy to do it. Mindless following wasn't something Ronon had every done before and he wasn't going to ever again. Good thing he didn't do apologizing, or he'd be lining up to apologize to Sheppard and McKay.

As he pulled his arm back to throw a vicious punch, Ronon considered that while Sheppard was probably going to wear on everyone's nerves with the sarcastic remarks, McKay wasn't likely to let Ronon forgot how he'd forced McKay against the wall and let Lucius' influence finally take effect.

One thing Ronon didn't do was guilt. McKay's constant harping would only serve as an irritation, kind of like a biting bug from Sateda. They'd buzz and fly around until you got angry enough to focus on killing them.

He delivered a right hand punch, and pulled back his left for another hit, when a sharp sting on his calf caused him to drop his arm, and jump backwards, looking for what had done it. He looked at his leg, the leather over his calf looked normal, no bug or anything else that would explain the pain he'd felt.

A blur of motion off to his left drew his glare, and Ronon focused on the small squattish object, dull silver, with black lines running around the top like some kind of helmet or something. It was moving across the floor, back towards him. A small metal rod pushed out from the body, and Ronon stepped back, suspicious.

"Exterminate!"

It started to come faster at him, and Ronon realized that the shape of it was vaguely familiar. The bulbous bottom, and smaller top, but…

"What …" he started to ask, who he wasn't sure.

He didn't get any farther because the thing wheeled too close and started repeating, "Destroy the Doctor. You are an enemy of the Daleks!" The rod poked against his leg, and even before the crackling sound registered, the sharp, now familiar pain, did. He jerked away, and quickly bent down, lifting the thing off the floor, pointing the rod away from his body.

He hadn't seen anything like this before, but it reminded him of the toy robots he'd played with as a boy on Sateda. A very _young_ boy. Figuring who he'd find not far away, Ronon sauntered out the door, and found McKay rapidly pushing a button on a device and muttering, "Why aren't you coming back?"

"Looking for this?" Ronon asked casually.

McKay guiltily shoved the controller behind him, and put on his best 'I'm innocent' face that wasn't fooling Ronon. "I heard one of our…Ancient devices…was possibly…malfunctioning in the gym?"

"Malfunctioning," Ronon echoed dryly.

Knowing he was caught, McKay sighed, and pulled the device back to the front. "Fine, fine. It's a Dalek." The smug grin returned full force and he poked the antenna towards Ronon. "I was testing it, and who better to try it out on, because it was your fault I was turned into a Stepford wife, the least you can do is be a graceful test subject." He worked a few buttons and the thing spun its wheels uselessly in Ronon's arms, the stick retracting telescopically into itself.

Ronon took a longer look at it, suspicion raising his eyebrow. "Is that the --"

"Gourd, yes," McKay answered. His face brightened. "You want to see what it can do? I thought it was rather poetic justice, turning it into a genocidal robot, don't you think?" He waved the controller towards the floor. "Just put it down, right there."

The squawk of protest from McKay was almost louder than the robot, as Ronon grabbed the controller from McKay's hands and kept the Dalek firmly in his grip.

"Now, let's not be hasty." McKay backed away as Ronon pushed a series of buttons until he was able to get the rod to extend again. "You did hold me against a wall and let that…fruit loop…pheromone me."

"McKay," Ronon growled, pushing more buttons. The wheels spun, rotating on a circular base, and started screaming, "Exterminate!" shrilly.

"Oh, look at the time, I promised Carson I'd meet him for lunch." McKay pointed at his watch, and jumped out of the gourd's range as it discharged a jolt of electricity. "By the way, Sheppard's got pneumonia, if you and Teyla want to visit…son of a bitch!" Ronon was getting the hang of the controls. He chased McKay all the way to the transporter and the only thing that followed him in the doors was Ronon's feral grin as McKay shouted, "He's in his quarters!" The doors began to close when McKay's head popped out again long enough for him to shout, "Don't tell him I shot you!" His head disappeared, then a hand stopped the doors and McKay leaned out again and said with a somewhat pleased expression, "On second thought, I really think he'd appreciate the irony --"

"McKay…"

"Going, going."

Once the doors finally closed, and McKay was gone, Ronon studied the robot. The paint job had been quick, he could see areas where the black paint had ran into the silver before it had dried, and in some places it was still sticky. Where the rod was looked too big and if he held it up to the light he could see clean through the gourd where McKay had bored the hole. A small part in the bottom of it was missing and inside was a small metal box. Seemed simple enough, but Ronon wondered how it worked.

Maybe he'd go surprise Teyla with it. Probably not the smartest idea, but if she didn't know about Sheppard being sicker, she'd want to. It wasn't like he'd made the robot, he was just going to play with it. A little.

Before he squashed it and threw it in the air for target practice.

OoO

Teyla left the balcony, wondering where John had disappeared too. After they had sent him to the infirmary for the serum, rescuing him from cleaning Rodney's quarters any further, she had not seen or heard from him.

She normally would call over the radio, but the fact that she was only looking for him for one reason was something that she would rather keep to herself. Teyla wanted to find a partner to spar with, and she did not need the overload of testosterone that was Ronon today. She had had enough of men in general, and the only reason why she had hoped to find John to spar with was because she rather felt a need to apologize and ensure the colonel was feeling well after the recent events.

When they had parted, John had seemed...tired.

Carson had given him some medication before they had returned Lucius to his planet and perhaps its effects were simply wearing off.

She was reluctant to look farther, but the restlessness inside begged to be released. Maybe she would have to settle for Ronon. Still…

A soft bump against her foot brought Teyla to a halt, and she looked down in confusion, unsure of what she was looking at. A small object that looked surprisingly like…

"It's the gourd," Ronon confirmed behind her.

Teyla turned, and tilted her head questioningly. "Who…altered it?"

He pushed some buttons and the robot retreated to Ronon's feet. "McKay -- got to watch it, the thing shocks you."

"I see." Really, she did not, but Teyla had accepted that the men she worked with behaved in odd ways, and did equally odd things, such as transforming a vegetable into a robot. "Have you seen Colonel Sheppard?"

Ronon scooped up the gourd. "McKay said he's sick, in his quarters. I was coming to tell you."

She had known something was wrong, had felt it, and still had not searched for why. "I have been looking for him," she explained, turning towards the corridor that led to the transporter. Ronon followed along, drawing even with her, the gourd clutched in his hands. Teyla's gaze locked onto the small object, seeing the brown-green lumps showing through the light coating of silver. "Perhaps we should not bring that to his room?"

If the colonel was feeling poor, Teyla did not imagine seeing a reminder of Lucius, no matter how altered, would help improve his condition.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

The transporter doors opened and revealed Radek, causing a slow smile to spread across Teyla's face.

OoO

Sheppard groaned as he rolled onto his side, fighting off another bout of coughing. When he'd called the infirmary earlier complaining, Carson had said coughing would help, get the gunk in his lungs loosened, but it sure as hell wasn't helping his increasingly sore throat. The more he coughed, the worse it hurt.

And the real kicker? No one had visited – well, aside from Rodney, and all he'd done was steal the gourd once he'd been reassured that Sheppard wasn't gonna die.

Now he was lying in bed, too miserable to do anything but doze and cough, and no one else had showed up to entertain him. Sheppard was feeling those abandonment twinges again. Sure, he'd teased a little…okay…a lot, but he was _sick_. He needed someone to hover.

Maybe he should go and find where everyone had gone to.

Right after that thought came another, scarier, more groan worthy one – what if the Lucius fiasco wasn't over? What if they were all gathered around the creepy guy in the lounge…

The knocking on his door stopped Sheppard's mind from running away from him. Still, he was entitled to have worries and stuff. "Come in!" he shouted, losing the end of his sentence to another round of coughing. The fact that the person was knocking automatically eliminated one certain individual, and besides, Rodney wasn't likely to show for the rest of the day after making off with this booty.

So when Teyla and Ronon walked in, he wasn't surprised so much as he was thankful, at least the other half of his team had decided to keep him entertained. Sitting up, he was honest enough to admit, he was feeling like a spoiled kid, wanting attention. "Hi guys," he greeted hoarsely. He shoved down the 'where've you been'…too whiny. He might _want_ to say it, but he wouldn't.

Teyla surveyed the empty water glass and wadded up tissues. Sheppard had caved and taken the other medication Carson had prescribed. Now he was coughing worse and his nose was dripping…again. Carson had said that was a good thing too. Something along the lines of 'clear your sinuses'.

"How are you feeling, Colonel? I heard you have developed a…pneumonia?"

The word was unfamiliar to her, and Ronon didn't seem anymore clued in either. Sheppard gestured to the lone chair by his desk and then the relatively unruffled end of his bed. "Sit," he ordered. Ronon went for the chair before Teyla could, and she eyed the bed, then him and his tissues before staying on her feet. Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Pneumonia isn't contagious, Teyla. It's a bacterial infection. Not a big deal," he assured her.

Of course, it was a big deal when no one had been visiting him.

Whether Teyla would've eventually sat or not turned out to be inconsequential, because Atlantis' alarms began blaring, loud and annoying. Sheppard reached for his radio just as Teyla tapped hers, shooting him a look that clearly said 'stay down'.

"This is Teyla, what is happening?"

Even from his bed, Sheppard could tell she wasn't getting an answer. Time ticked and he'd waited long enough. He had his boots on in record time and was reaching for his pistol when he heard the muted sounds of a voice responding. Was that…

"Who's laughing?" he demanded.

Alarms and laughing weren't a normal combination. Unless Lucius was back.

Not waiting to hear more, Sheppard had his gun and was running out the door, not pausing when Teyla called, "Colonel, wait!"

He knew Ronon and Teyla were running after him, but he'd gotten a head start, and arrived in the gateroom ahead of them, pulling up short as he took in the confusing scene. Personnel crowded around the control room promenade, and the normal Marines on guard around the gate were all looking up. Standing in the front of the crowd on the control deck was Zelenka and McKay, arguing loudly, amidst the blaring alarms. No one seemed overly concerned and Lucius was definitely not here.

"What the --" he started to shout, when an object dove at his head.

"Colonel!"

"Sheppard!"

The shouted duet of Ronon and Teyla had him ducking just to avoid getting decapitated or knocked flat by whatever that thing was. As it shot back up, he could barely make out music. It was playing music?

Dumbfounded, Sheppard felt like he was Alice and he'd just fallen down the rabbit hole…_again_.

The alarms cut off.

"—that damn noise OFF!"

Elizabeth had apparently been in mid-yell, and continued on, her mind taking a moment to realize the noise had been stopped. Well, most of the noise had. The alarms had stopped but the flying object that kept making strafing runs at people's heads was definitely playing music, but the constant up and down distorted the tinny notes.

Zelenka and McKay came running down the stairs, and Sheppard pulled his nine mil, aiming. As he pulled the trigger, McKay shouted, "Don't shoot!" just as Zelenka cried out, "No, Colonel!"

The shot hit true and the UFO jerked off kilter, sparked and dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. The music was slowed, and warped, but now Sheppard could clearly hear the voice singing with a familiar Czech accent, "_Jolly old Saint Lucius, lend your ear this way…_"

With dawning realization, Sheppard whirled on the two scientists, incredulous and holding his pistol still aimed at what he now recognized as the modified gourd. "You've got to be kidding me?" he barked.

"_Don't you tell a single soul, what I've done_…"

McKay looked like he was a step away from punching Zelenka. "_I_ made it into a _Dalek_. It shot people," he crowed. "This is…" McKay's eyes did something accusing and disgruntled. "…an abomination. My very cool Doctor Who robot, turned into some…glorified juke box!"

"It is not a juke box!" Zelenka defended. "I merely made it fly and say more than 'Exterminate'!" He poked McKay. "You think only in small box. One thing, when the possibilities were too many to count."

"_Now you dear old fat man, whisper what you'll do to me_…"

Sheppard's head pounded, his mouth twitched and just as he was going to fire again and put them _all_ out of their misery, Teyla scooped up the warbling, somewhat damaged, Dalek juke box gourd.

"I shall take care of this," she said quickly. Her eyes traveled upwards, to where Elizabeth was staring down with a mixture of horror and bemusement. Teyla nodded, and it was returned by Elizabeth, giving the Athosian permission to abscond with the gourd.

As she left, Ronon quirked an eyebrow at McKay and said, "I liked it better when it shot people."

He didn't want to know. He just…didn't want to know. Sheppard went to shove the pistol into his holster only to realize he didn't have one. The safety was back on so he did something he'd never let anyone else get away with, and tucked it into his waistband. He patted McKay sympathetically and said, "We can go back, ask Lucius for another one."

The chorus of 'No's' followed them out of the gateroom, and Sheppard was pretty sure Elizabeth's was one of the loudest.

OoO

Days later, Teyla visited Halling and her people. As they sat in one of the new wooden homes that had been built recently, she retrieved the gourd from her bag and set it on the table between them.

"What is this?" Halling asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes at the peculiar looking object.

It was now greatly unrecognizable, in large part to the top portion having been blown away by the colonel's very good aim, and the modifications and painting from both Rodney and Radek, however, Teyla felt it was salvageable.

"This was a gift, and I would like to make it one again, if you are willing to help?"

Halling reached for the vegetable, and turned it over in his hands, before placing it back on the table. "What would you wish me to do with it?"

Leaning in, Halling's smile deepened in the firelight as she explained.

TBC after Sateda


	4. Chapter 4

AN: A Sateda fic, Teyla's POV…in some ways, it's a novelization of Sateda, with some added thoughts from Teyla, and some 'missing scenes'. The dialogue was taken down word for word (and boy wasn't that fun, seeing how no transcripts for this are out yet – now you know why I'm so slow for this tag). Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Thank you gaffer and Linzi for your invaluable beta assistance, remaining mistakes are mine. Feedback is welcome. Though someone could look at this with Teyla-Sheppard ship goggles, it's a gen fic that really speaks about their friendship as shown in canon with the hints of 'maybe more' that canon has also shown. **Warning**: This is one big massive spoiler for **Sateda**!

**Outsiders**

I have often thought that life was easier when I looked upon it with the eyes of a child's view. I did not carry the burdens, fears and worries then that I do now.

Though I might long for just one more night to sit at my father's fire, to listen to the nuts crackling in the heat, I know that where I am now is a moment that some day will be more important than any other time in my life.

The wraith no longer cull without challenge. They no longer own the stars. And I am fighting them.

If I had to explain why to anyone, and I have, then I would say a people came, as Colonel Sheppard often puts it, from a galaxy far, far away, and they fight the wraith for everyone. It is not just for themselves. It is for the Mendali, the Jujura, and Dialarian. It is for all the people in this place of mine that they call the Pegasus Galaxy.

Yet, for the hope that has been brought, I am not of John's people, and neither is Ronon. We are outsiders – and though I know John would not wish to discuss such things, I am under no illusion about where loyalty and priority rests with his people.

For the good they have brought, I have given up many things. My people -- into Halling's care on the mainland -- my world, and in many ways, my life. We had lived on Athos for as long as our history had been recorded, and undoubtedly, longer before that. The drawings in the caves told a painful history of culling after culling, and the great city is one we dared not venture into for fear of bringing the wraith prematurely upon us. Then in one day, everything changed, even the fear.

Before, I feared for the end of my people -- for Halling, Charrin, and Susia. For Jinto and Marsa. Would we survive? Would we be culled, and how many would be taken from us?

But still, life went on. We traded with other worlds, and we lived. Babies were born, lives lost, crops to be harvested and we moved where the soil was rich and the wildlife was plentiful. Despite the losses, we were content. My fear was isolated, at one center of my world.

Now, I fear for the galaxy.

For people like Keturah, and his village. They reacted harshly to Ronon's presence, not understanding. A runner does not choose to live that life, to bring wraith wherever he goes. Ronon is as much a victim as anyone else, but all Keturah's people understand is that Ronon is the Wraithbringer.

I can only hope Rodney managed to return to Atlantis, and a rescue party will arrive soon. Ronon is wearing his blame like a heavy cloak, and I have tried unsuccessfully to assure him that this is not his fault. The hunted owes no pain to the devastation of the hunter.

Perhaps John will be more successful when he wakes from the effects of the drug.

Ronon had woken first, and by the time I had recovered, it was only to find him staring angrily through the slatted log bars. My breath misted before me, and I found my limbs had stiffened noticeably from the cold and the time spent unconscious. I stood only long enough to remove the dart still stuck in John's shoulder, sparing an irritated glance at Ronon. I had maneuvered John into a corner of the cage. He had only recently recovered from this pneumonia, and lying on the cold ground posed a risk for him to become sick again.

The fact that he is still deeply unconscious, and does not stir as I move him, worries me. But then I consider that perhaps the colonel had taken a larger dose because he had not had time to withdraw the drugged dart as I had, and I assume, Ronon had as well, since he had woken before me.

Once I am satisfied that he is breathing well enough, I return to my corner, still feeling the nauseating effects.

"You should have aided Colonel Sheppard," I scold, unable to keep my peace any longer.

Ronon's fingers clutch the bars and he does not even look at me. "He's fine."

I could hear the unspoken, "but not for long…because of me."

The men on my team, the team Colonel Sheppard had asked me over two of their years ago to be a part of, said very little and often meant very much, with the exception of Rodney. Rodney often said much while showing little, and I am not entirely certain of which one I prefer. I am fond of them all, more than I care to admit sometimes, even to myself, and yet…I also feel a certain responsibility for their welfare, both physical and mental.

Ronon is a lost man. He has spent too many years fighting to live to have fully accepted the second chance he has been granted. This…this will not help him travel on that road of acceptance that I had sensed him beginning to consider. When I had convinced him to accept John's offer, he had admitted to feeling as if he would never belong anywhere again. It was a rare confession, and he had refused to discuss it further. Even if he had wanted to, I am not so sure I could have helped, because I have the same fears.

My world is gone, my people, separate from me, and I often wear clothes and use weapons that are not my own. I am no longer clearly Athosian, but I also am not of this Earth, though I live amongst them, eat and dress like them. I watch their movies, play their games and learn many things, but it does not change the fact that I am not from their world any more than they are from mine.

I watch as the colonel sleeps, for the moment unaware and relaxed.

John is just as lost as Ronon. He may be from their world, but I have noticed a distinct…disconnectedness…I am not sure if that is the word, but it is close enough. He is accepted by Elizabeth, his team, Carson and others, but I have also observed that he does not get along well with everyone. He and Colonel Caldwell do their best to avoid deep interactions.

I sense a great discomfort from John at times. In many ways, he is as alone as I am, and perhaps that is why I have always felt an affinity with him, even from that first moment on Athos. There was something about him that begged me to trust, and I do not regret my decision to do so, even though my life changed so drastically thereafter.

The logs are hard against my back, and I hunch over, pressing only the firmness of my spine against the cage, trying to ease the growing ache between my shoulders. Ronon is still staring at the village, lost in his own thoughts, when John finally stirs.

I watch as he begins to move his head slightly. He lifts a hand to his shoulder, the same one where the dart had struck him, and I can imagine he is reliving the last moments before he became unconscious.

"Well, I guess it could be worse."

He sounds slightly less well than usual, but I am pleased he puts together a sentence that is both at once more optimistic than the situation warrants, and also, very much normal for John. I offer him a weak smile because I am glad that he has woken, mostly unharmed, but I am also not sure many places are worse than this. It is cold, I still feel slightly sick to my stomach, and the villagers are not keeping us here for our well-being.

"Look, I know you must be thinking this is your fault…"

John is trying to help Ronon with the guilt he is obviously feeling, huddled and isolated from us, staring at nothing. What Ronon's mind is busy with, I am uncertain, but I am sure it is not good.

When Ronon does not respond, I say to John, "I have already tried to console him."

One can never say that the colonel does not keep trying. He steps closer to Ronon and says, "We were bound to run across a planet that you'd been to sooner or later."

"It was night last time," Ronon admits, surprising me.

I look across at John, both of us waiting, but Ronon seems lost in a memory, and before I can prompt him for more, Keturah approaches, his words harsh. "Did you think we would not remember you?"

I watch Ronon as the words hit – words of anger. Ronon came here as a runner, and they had given him food and shelter, only for the wraith to arrive on the village's door, looking for him. I watch Ronon from my position behind him.

"I'm sorry."

Keturah only seems angered by Ronon's apology. "Sorry -- I doubt that. You will not bring death and destruction on us again."

How little does Keturah know? How blind is this leader, to not understand? It is not the man, but the monster, to blame. The _wraith_ brought the death and destruction.

John steps forward, hoping to smooth this, but I know he is only deluding himself. I have seen Keturah's kind, and nothing is likely to get through to him. It only makes me frustrated. "He is a victim of the wraith!" I stress. "Like all of us. His planet was destroyed, he was captured and made a runner, but he is not one anymore. They cannot track him as they once did."

Keturah's anger resonates from him. "They did not feed on us all last time." His hand is tight on his staff. "They promised that if he ever came back and we captured him, we would be forever free from culling in the future."

"They promised?" I say, outraged. This is madness. "They are _wraith_! I promise you that killing Ronon will not change what happened and it will not protect you in the future."

I have known many people to suffer from delusions, their desperation leading them to accept that which anyone else would say was wrong, and I see the same disturbing belief now in this man. He actually believes he can deal with the wraith, as I dealt with other people on other worlds, trading and bartering for goods and services. What he does not accept, is that the wraith have no need to honor any bargain after they get what they want.

"I said nothing of killing," responds Keturah roughly.

John suspects the same thing as I. "Isn't that what sacrifice means?" he asks, and it comes as no surprise when we see the beacon in his hand. Keturah is a fool, and we will all pay the price. John tells Keturah, "They're going to kill us all, you included."

And they will. The wraith have no reason to let this village survive. It is poor, small, and unlikely to produce a large amount of food (humans) in the future. Keturah thinks he has saved his people, and I see the righteous fervor in his eyes -- distaste for what he's done mixed with the anger over what Ronon brought to his people. I am too sick over the uselessness to tell him he has only a short time left to live, along with us all.

After Keturah leaves, John looks at me and I shake my head. We are in trouble, and I see no way out. The guard is watching us closely and the cage, while simple, is effective. Ronon is lost once again in his memories, and we are left to wait.

"This is not good," John mutters, leaning against the wall I had propped him against earlier. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say, this is probably going to get ugly really soon."

Sometimes, John talks just to think out loud, and to make him feel better, and though I acknowledge the truth of his statement with a slight crooked smile, I do not say what is on my mind.

I move away, to simmer over possible solutions, and I know John is doing the same. When the wraith show, perhaps they will not stun us, and we might be able to disarm a guard, get a stunner, and shoot our way to the 'gate…and perhaps flying Havals will learn to swim. I sigh, and wish the lingering queasiness from the drug would stop. It is distracting.

"Get him back here, the leader of your village."

Ronon's call pulls me out of my internal thoughts. He has not moved from the same position, and I have a bad feeling even while he exchanges words with the villager. I know John is surprised when Ronon grabs the man, and places a knife to his throat, but I am not. I have felt a quiet desperation growing in Ronon, and when he demands, "Let them go. It's me the wraith want. They had nothing to do with what happened here," I am not shocked in the least.

It is something Ronon would do. It is something John would do.

"What the hell are you doing?"

John has moved nearer to Ronon, and I have slipped across our cage to stand with him, ready to act as he sees fit. But right now, the colonel seems inclined to try and talk Ronon away from this course he has taken without consulting us. John knows as well as I, what Ronon is doing, and I believe that is why he is angry.

Ronon tightens his hand on the knife. "Back off, Sheppard."

"Drop the knife, now," orders John.

"No! I didn't mean to bring the wraith here. But it was my fault."

I am incensed. All of this is useless and it will not save us from the approaching wraith. "That isn't true!"

He shoots an angry look at us, before reasserting his grip on the man, who is struggling to not so much as breathe too deep, lest the knife cut into his throat. "You know it is. I should never have come here. I should never have stayed. I'm sorry about what happened to your village, but if you think turning me over to the wraith will help keep you safe, fine, do it. I'll do whatever I have to, to make up for it, but don't punish them for my mistake. They're good people. You let them go, or I'll be dead before the wraith get here, I promise. Then see what the wraith do to you."

I can see the ending even before the conversations have finished.

It plays out much as I thought it would, with John and I sharing alarmed looks while Ronon holds the knife to his own throat. When Keturah agrees, we are hauled from the cage. I look back and see Ronon darted as we are pushed and pulled away. He had bartered for our lives, and even though I am angry, I know he needed to do what he did for his own peace of mind. I also know, as hard as it is for us to leave him behind, this may be our only chance. If we had been taken with him, then none of us would have had hope. Now we have time, possibly, to return with a rescue team. But it will be close.

The guards do not let us talk, but there is no need. I know that John intends to return with a rescue party. Once we clear the 'gate and are back on Atlantis, he immediately delivers the order I expected, but nonetheless, am relieved to hear.

"Someone get us some vests and guns."

Major Mathison approaches, all ready dressed to leave. "Colonel, Teyla," he nods his head. "We were just about to come get you guys. Where's…" he looks at the now inactive 'gate, "…where's Ronon?"

I reach for a vest that has been brought as John replies, "He's still back there. McKay get through okay?"

Doctor Weir answers, apprehension and confusion evident in her tone, "Yeah, he's gonna be fine. What happened?"

I tell her, "Ronon bargained for our freedom," as I finish grabbing my gear from the soldier.

"By sticking a knife to his own throat. We're going back."

I am relieved when Weir does not even hesitate to order over her shoulder, "Dial the 'gate."

"Took us fifteen minutes to get to the gate." Even as John says it, I have also 'done the math' as they like to say. Fifteen minutes to Atlantis, and even though we are quickly ready to leave, it will be another fifteen minutes to the village. The wraith will come in their ships, and they will be faster.

"The place could be crawling with wraith by now," I say, making sure to look at the waiting members of the rescue party that will now be accompanying us back to the village. It will be dangerous for everyone.

The major says, resolved, "Let's go get him."

I know, even as we walk into the event horizon, we will be too late.

The burning, devastated village is therefore no surprise, but I am angry, all the same. Ronon is gone, and though I promise John we will find him, I do not know how I manage to force the lie through my lips.

OoO

When we arrive back on Atlantis, we are quiet. Doctor Weir calls us into the briefing room, knowing as well as I do, that John needs to move straight into planning further rescue attempts. The colonel is tightly wound, full of restless energy, and he walks past me, saying with enough convicted assurance, "He's alive," that I almost believe him.

Carson is next to me and he looks as skeptical as everyone. "Don't get me wrong, I hope he is, but how can you be certain?"

Maybe the colonel is right; the wraith do not always kill when the first opportunity is presented… "They made a sport out of trying to kill him in the past," I think out loud.

"He's the one that got away," John states, convinced, following my train of thought.

It could be. I had not considered that aspect, but it makes sense, and suddenly, I find myself just as certain as John. "I believe they will try again."

"Ronon will not go down easily," John says, his voice husky.

The colonel is standing with his hands on his hips, and I can sense in him the need to act. I feel it in myself. I see it in Rodney, who is also standing, although he is far more uncomfortable for additional reasons, and I wonder at his presence, so soon after being injured.

Doctor Weir studies John carefully. "But they must know how dangerous he can be…it's not like they're gonna give him a fair chance."

The wraith never give anyone a fair chance.

"And obviously, we don't have much time," agrees John.

When Doctor Weir asks how we find him, I already have the possible answer. "If the wraith placed a tracking device in him the way they did last time…" I know what they can do with their machines; I have watched and learned. They can track signals across the galaxy; surely they can find Ronon if he has been tagged again?

Rodney brings up the critical point. If they put another one in Ronon. But John puts words to how I feel.

"I'll take whatever odds I can get."

Yes, I will also take whatever odds, because moments ago, I had believed Ronon was lost to us, and now, thanks again to John's people, I have hope. As Doctor Weir and Rodney leave, I offer a reassuring smile to John and begin to follow them through the door. When Carson's voice stops us, the colonel is so close on my heels I am surprised he has not stepped on me.

"Colonel, Teyla, I hope you're both aiming for the infirmary."

I pause, and this time, John does run into my back. He steadies me with his strong arms, then gives me space. I put on my best warm smile and turn to Carson. "I was going to prepare for the rescue mission." I am not sure what I have to prepare, but I will find something. The need they have for frequent medical checks grows wearisome. I have traveled through the 'gate for most of my life and have never suffered ill effects before.

Ordinarily, I tolerate the constant intrusion, because of the need they feel for this routine, but my stomach is still mildly unsettled and I am fully aware, that at any time, Carson has the power to say who does, or does not, go through the 'gate, or in this case, on a certain rescue mission I have no intention of missing.

"Lass, you know procedure." Carson smiles briefly and pats my arm affectionately, before slipping in front of me. "Now, follow me, _both_ of you," he adds over his shoulder.

OoO

It turns out that I am pleasantly surprised. I do not freely offer the information about the drugged darts, but in answering the general questions -- number seventeen is: Were you affected by any alien substance off world (that you know of)? Carson learns about our temporary unconsciousness and we have extra blood drawn.

I confess my stomach remains unsettled, and he offers a pill that helps tremendously, and by the time the results are back, he gives me permission to leave. Unfortunately, John is not so lucky. As I suspected, and told Carson, the dart had remained in Sheppard's arm and he received a higher dose than I. His blood work shows trace levels still in his system, and through prompting that only Carson seems able to do with the colonel, John reluctantly admits to an upset stomach and headache.

Carson had used, "Teyla admitted to discomfort, Colonel. Do they not say, lead by example?"

John had met my eyes, looking decidedly trapped. But it had worked. I worry about his health, and it is nice to turn over that worry now to Carson. With a promise of an hour, if that, before John can be released, I tell John I will take the tracking device to Rodney.

I find him in his lab, waiting. Absent-mindedly, Rodney takes the device from me, asking, "Where is the colonel?"

"The infirmary."

I watch as Rodney moves to his bench and slides the tracking device into a holding frame of some kind, attaching sensors to it. He went to sit on his stool, and just as I am about to warn him, his bottom touches the surface. With a yelp, he quickly straightens and glares. He looks at me, and I promise, I do try not to laugh, but it is so hard…

"Oh, nice, laugh at the wounded man," he grumps. "Get that for me, would you?" He points at the device rigged on the metal frame.

"I am sorry, Rodney," I apologize sincerely. "I will not laugh again."

I have to admit, my spirits are high, because there is the possibility that we will find Ronon. That this hope will bear the fruit I want so desperately, and I know, if anyone can bring Ronon back from this, it is John, Rodney, and their technology.

We have lost Ford; I do not wish to see what losing Ronon will do, to either one of them, let alone, myself.

I place it on the floor in an open area where he plans on working, and he soon loses himself in his work, muttering about things I do not understand. I quietly leave.

OoO

While Rodney works on finding Ronon's signal, I have nothing to do. My mission gear is easily prepared in minutes. I feel the need to do…something, and my restlessness drives me to the room John had prepared for me soon after I first came to Atlantis. It is a medium sized room, light and airy, and he'd had exercise mats placed along the floor. It is in this room where I find more peace than anywhere else.

I like to lose myself in the forms of traditional Bantos fighting. There are many ways for a soul to center itself. Meditation, prayer, exercise…but this method is one dear to me. I learned from my father. Here, with them firmly grasped in my hands, moving through the motions handed down through generations, I feel a connection to my past. I remember who I am. It is much more to me than mere exercise.

More than two years ago, when John had come to my room to see if I was settling in without any difficulties, I had been practicing. I had opened the door, the sticks held almost as an after thought in my hands. After I had invited him in, and answered his questions, he had asked what the sticks were and what they were used for. After I had explained, he'd said it sounded like martial arts on Earth.

Surprising me with his interest, John asked if I would demonstrate how to use them. I did not hesitate, and had him pinned to the floor in my quarters within a heartbeat. He'd stared up at me, surprised. I had held my breath, fearing I had insulted him, but he had grinned, once the shock wore off, and after asking me to let him up so he could breathe, also asked if I would teach him.

"Teyla, briefing room," John's voice comes alive in my ear. In light of events, I had left my earpiece in while exercising. "Rodney's found him, but there's a complication."

I wonder at the 'complication', but acknowledge the request. "I am on my way." I leave the sticks on the bench under the window. I do not have time to properly clean them and it is better for the sweat to air dry rather than tucking them in the carrying bag still damp.

OoO

"We have no choice. We've been unable to dial into Sateda's Stargate."

That is the complication, and I should've expected it. The wraith often do such things to worlds they cull. I glance at the others and say my thoughts aloud, "The wraith likely disabled it." They know what I mean. The wraith's practice of dialing a planet's 'gate, and leaving it active so no one can dial in or out while they cull, or in this instance, hunt, is familiar to all of us.

It is not enough for them to decimate worlds; they must also make a sport out of their killing.

"Which means if the wraith are hunting Ronon, there's a very good chance that there's a Hive in orbit. I shouldn't have to remind you the Daedalus has not done well in its last few engagements with wraith Hive ships." Colonel Caldwell's announcement feels like a death sentence for Ronon.

I am torn. When I had first joined John's team, and we went to other worlds, I would have risked everything trying to save lives. It was only in the second year where I began to accept you cannot always save everyone. Sometimes, the only course was to turn ones' back on those less fortunate, to live and fight another day. Sometimes the losses incurred in attempting to save lives under unbeatable odds were not worth it. I am still not comfortable with that realization, and even less so now that the life at hand is Ronon's.

Rodney looks as if the problem is far simpler than Colonel Caldwell believes. "We drop out of hyperspace, we beam him on board, we get out of there."

Colonel Caldwell vibrates with frustration. "You know damn well we can't come out of hyperspace and get close enough to a planet to beam someone up from the surface. We'll be detected."

Everyone in the room shares uneasy looks, and I feel a pit of ice in my stomach. The hope I felt earlier is turning to ash, and I cannot imagine leaving Ronon to this grisly fate. It is hard enough to leave nameless faces to such an end, but one I have shared much with over the last year…it is worse than Lieutenant Ford, because at least with him, the possibility for his survival existed. Ronon will not live long. Trapped on his world, hunted. The wraith will capture him, and they will kill him.

"Look, you know I want to help, but I will not put my crew and the only ship that we have in this galaxy, at risk for one man."

It is as I feared. I form an argument, but before I can speak, John says angrily, "One man that isn't a member of the US military."

I do not know if John's assessment has merit, but Colonel Caldwell appears insulted as he denies, "I didn't say that."

John strides across the room, towards Colonel Caldwell, and I feel apprehension, because he normally avoids confrontations with the colonel. But, at the same time, I am pleasantly surprised, to see him fighting for Ronon's rescue.

"He's a member of my team, and he deserves the same respect as anyone does on this expedition!"

John's statement is harsh, and the tension in the room is such that we all feel it. I share another uneasy look with Rodney, who watches as well, uncertain of what will be the outcome.

Doctor Weir adds, "We don't leave our people out there, Colonel. Not if there's any chance."

With her support, I know the odds have turned. I no longer feel the rescue is slipping through my fingers. Yet, Colonel Caldwell remains frustrated and says, "Don't preach to me about leaving people behind, Doctor Weir. I'm just saying it's a very bad reward-risk situation."

Reward-risk?

It sounds cold, but I do not have it in me any longer to believe Colonel Caldwell is completely wrong. He is not. We have lost lives in rescue attempts for others, and it has always bothered me that the lives I cherish were saved at the expense of lives that someone else, somewhere, cherished just as much. Life is an unfair thing.

John is pleased enough. "Fine, then just get us close. We'll take a cloaked Jumper the rest of the way."

"I'll go with them, remove the tracking device before we get back on board," Carson volunteers.

I watch the faces in the room. It has so suddenly become possible, and I think once again, that these people are very complicated. Carson is not what many would think of as brave, yet, he is when it is needed. In much the same way as Rodney, and I am very glad to count them as my friends.

The emotion in the room has changed. Before, there was anger and frustration, now there is relief, and conviction…there is a job to do, and they are ready. John's relief is palpable; he knows the argument went in his favor. He promises, "We'll be out of there before the wraith even know what happened."

Colonel Caldwell warns, "I won't bail you out if you get into trouble," in a tone that reminds me of when my father would let me do something he felt was unwise, merely so I could learn from the experience.

But John is confident, much as I always had been in the face of my father's warnings, and replies with irreverence, "You say that as if we're always getting into trouble."

As I follow the others from the room, I think to myself thatis because we always are. But, to always get into trouble, one must be alive, and I would wish for us to continue 'getting into trouble' for many years to come. All of us.

OoO

I think of many things while John flies the Jumper to rendezvous with the Daedalus above Atlantis' skies. Rodney stands behind John, unable to sit because of his wound. At times, he looks so forlornly at the chair that I feel for him. I know he will not remain behind, but I also know he is still hurting. He hides behind a veneer of brittle arrogance, yet he is here for only one reason. He cares, like all of us. Carson, John, myself…

Once we land, Rodney is relieved to have something to do, and he leaves for the bridge, to help direct the flight to Sateda. I am fairly certain that Colonel Caldwell does not need the help, but there are only so many things Rodney can do right now, and this is one where he can reasonably forget his injury. He often stands while on the bridge of the Daedalus.

I have nothing to do, but I have met a few individuals assigned to the Daedalus that are pleasant enough, and I seek them out now. I find that Sergeant Barry has a new son, and Lieutenant Noles bought a house. She insists it is worth the money, even though she often spends a great deal of time on the Daedalus.

Surprisingly, I understand. Everyone needs a place to call home, a place that is just yours, and where you belong. I lost that when I agreed to stay on Atlantis, separate from the rest of my people, who have made a new life for themselves on the mainland. They live there, safe, protected -- as long as John's people continue to win. I could have gone, and resumed a normal life. Married, perhaps even had children, and built a home for myself.

Instead, I live amongst strangers.

And perhaps, not so strange, after all. I have thought a great deal about the events in the briefing room. I am not so sure we would be here if it were not for the words John said. Two possible outcomes; the path to this one was set by a man I have come to admire a great deal. He was…insubordinate…I believe that is the term. Or, very close to it. And it worked, but I am not so naïve to believe it could not have gone an entirely different way.

I call Rodney over the radio, asking where John is; I wish to speak with him, to, at the very least, let him know how much his actions meant to me. Rodney grouches about being Sheppard's 'keeper' but says, "Try the mess hall."

When I walk through the door, I see him sitting alone at a table, playing with the small device they call a PDA. He looks up and sees me, already moving to put away the device.

"Hey," he calls in greeting.

"Am I disturbing you?" I figure I am not, but it is a politeness ingrained in me. Even if I was, I doubt he would say so, because he seems to hide behind equally polite walls.

"No…what's up?" he asks, genuinely happy to talk with me.

"I just wanted to thank you." I leap right in, knowing that the direct approach is often the best to take with John. And I do want to thank him. He needs to know what his actions mean to me, for he is so often unaware of his worth.

Confused, he replies, "For what?"

It does not surprise me that he does not know. "For going after Ronon this way."

"Did you think we wouldn't?" His surprise almost appears as disbelief.

"He is an outsider," I point out reasonably. Does John not see the obvious? Ronon and I do not belong to them. We are not from Earth. But, for the first time, I consider that maybe I am the one not seeing things clearly.

John's response is swift and sure. "Not to me."

What he says is true. I have always felt that John accepted me, but John is only one amongst an entire expedition of people. "I have often felt like an outsider among your people," I confess, feeling slightly guilty for saying it. John is not to blame for how others have treated me. The initial mistrust, the conflict with Sergeant Bates – those events are not so easily forgotten.

"Well, maybe at first, but you know I've always trusted you."

His reply seems to show his thoughts were in the past, like mine, and I do not want John to believe that I felt otherwise about him. I knew from the beginning that John was different. In that first meeting, Colonel Sumner had looked down upon my people, but not John. He had treated me like we were equals.

"Yes, you and Doctor Weir have been very accepting, but this has shown me how far you would go, even for someone who is not from your world."

Even as I finish, hoping to show, as well as say, how much it means to me, I can sense he is uncomfortable, and I smile, encouraging him to not feel as if he must hide behind the casual mask he so often wears.

He awkwardly moves his cup to his tray, needing to do something, though I am not fooled. "Look, Teyla," he says, staring at his tray, "I'm not really good at…uh…actually, I'm…I'm terrible at expressing…" John struggles further and I have to bite my tongue against finishing his thoughts, but just when I can no longer wait, he finds more words, "I don't know what you call it…"

I guess, "Feelings?" because I am certain that is what he means. John feels a great deal, but he rarely shares those feelings. After spending time with him, I had realized there were only two reasons for him to behave as he did. Either he did not trust me enough to share, or, he did not know how.

It had not taken long for me to be assured it was not a trust issue.

He seems to accept my suggestion, and I think, maybe, he feels self-conscious for having it spoken aloud, between us, because he stumbles a little before conceding, "Yeah, sure, okay…the point is I don't really have good…uh…. "

"Social skills?" I offer helpfully. This is the first meaningful conversation we have truly had, and I am loathe for him to retreat. If he requires my suggestions to continue, then I will gladly give them.

He smiles, both relieved and self-deprecatingly. "Well, that is why I enjoyed flying choppers in the most remote parts of my world, before all this craziness happened, but …uh… you should know, I don't have, uh…"

"Friends?"

His response is immediate, and he looks up from the tray. I have at least coaxed that much of a reaction from him, with my mostly unintentional insult.

"No!" he responds quickly, almost horrified that I would think that of him. "I have friends…"

I smile a little, just because I am fully aware that he has friends. I was just not so sure that John knew this.

Perhaps he realizes I was not being completely serious with my suggestion, because he seems to recover, and continues, "You, Elizabeth…" he looks at me, and I am not sure what he is trying to see. "Ronon, Carson, even Rodney are the closest thing I have to…uh…"

I am no longer teasing as I say kindly, "A family." For it is something I recognized in him. He had even less than I when we first met. He never spoke of a family back home, or friends. I am not so blind that I could not see the tree in front of me. It is as if John had no past before he came to Atlantis, and that means, he had a past he did not wish to remember.

He is very solemn now, and quiet. "I'd do anything, for any one of you." His hands are on each side of the tray. He is uncomfortable and I wish suddenly that I had not come here, because I feel the depth of what this is costing him. Yet, on the other hand, I would not leave now for all the Nerals on Athos.

John does not realize that he is telling me something I had all ready suspected, though I will admit, seeing, and hearing, is much different than believing. It is why I am sitting here across from him. Because my belief was borne into fruition when he stood up for Ronon in that briefing room, and he will never truly understand the depth of devotion I, and the others, have equally in return, for him.

He tries to meet my eyes, but he is painfully aware of how open and intimate our conversation has become. John is baring himself to someone, and it is possibly the first time I have ever seen him do so. Though he is fighting to keep eye contact, he mostly connects with me, and I muster a half-smile, still deeply affected by the mere fact that he is telling me these thoughts.

John fights to keep control as he adds, "If I had to give up my life, the way Ronon was going to…I would."

By the time he finishes, his words are spoken so softly, if there had been any nearby conversation, it would have overcome John's voice, and that would have been a terrible thing.

I try to find something to say. I want him to know that he means so very much to all of us, as well, and I have no trouble in presuming to speak for those not sitting with us. I will not share the conversation with them at a later time, because I do not think it is what John would want, but I also do not think it is necessary. I believe even Rodney understands, perhaps more than I, because Rodney has been there for John.

In those early days, I did not know either man very well, but I do remember Rodney and John, cavorting about their new city, exploring and testing. No, I do not doubt that Rodney understands. There is more to their friendship than I see; maybe a common background, maybe each sense something familiar in the other.

John pats my hand, startling me from my thoughts, and I blush, realizing I lost my moment, because he is standing, and walking away.

"Thank you," I manage to say, before he has completely left the room. It is not nearly what I had hoped, but he looks back, just a little, and I know he's waiting. I sigh, because there is no way for me to say everything that I wish too. So, I say instead, "For everything…you meant to say." For everything you are and do, though I keep that to myself. Perhaps John is not the only one that has difficulty in opening up.

He pauses and I know he understands. I watch as he leaves. I have no reason to stay, yet, I find myself sitting at the table for a long time after.

OoO

It is not much later when the atmosphere in the Daedalus changes from lazy anticipation to nervous energy. We have arrived just out of sensor range of Sateda. I meet John, Rodney and Carson in the bay, and when they see me, we move together into the Jumper. John begins the flight procedures he has done many times before, and I know he finds comfort in the routine.

Rodney stands in the back, still preferring not to sit. I smile warmly at him, and stay in the rear rather than sit in front. He could have stayed on Atlantis, or even the Daedalus, but he has chosen, despite his injury, to accompany us on Ronon's rescue. I know there are some that would be surprised at his choice, but I am not one of them.

I listen to John answer Carson's nervous questions about the rescue.

"You will do fine," I assure him.

Carson looks briefly over his shoulder and gives me an appreciative look that is still nervous. When he returns his attention to the front, John is signaling Daedalus that we are ready and Colonel Caldwell wishes us good luck. Luck is something I am familiar with, but on Athos, we called it fortune. Good fortune to those in need, though it rarely would be so. The wraith made certain of that.

The signal from Ronon's tracker is strong. "He is still alive," I say, relieved. Space as dark as night, fills the view screen, until John directs the Jumper in a turn, and then Sateda looms ahead.

"For now," Rodney mutters. He steps past me, and studies the HUD. "The Hive ship…"

We see it there, large and overwhelming, and it reminds me of a giant insect, hovering. It is as ugly and horrible as the wraith. Their technology, as insidious as the beings that create it. Rodney has explained to me their usage of organic material, mixing with the non-living components.

Memories in my mind; the feel of the wraith ship under my fingers, the slippery sound it makes when the doors to the cells open and close; the dank, decay. I have been a captive in a Hive ship twice, and both times, we have suffered losses. I have been _in_ a wraith mind.

As I watch Sateda grow larger, I keep that in mind. One does not go against the wraith and walk away untouched.

"That building," Rodney points, as John guides the ship effortlessly through atmosphere and into the city. It is a bombed and ruined place, like many others I have seen. We are standing too close behind John and Carson, yet no one is complaining. "I think…yes, he should be in there, somewhere."

John steers the Jumper straight on.

"What…you can't fly _into_ it!"

At the last minute, last enough to earn matching faces of worry from Carson and Rodney, John pulls the Jumper into a steep climb, and we soar up and over, before he finds a clear area on the flat, rubble strewn roof. As the ship settles, he grins rakishly at them. "You didn't think I was going to hit, did you?" He stands and claps a friendly hand on Rodney's shoulder, as he steps to the rear, "Lighten up, McKay. I never intentionally crash."

Rodney turns and says, "That wasn't funny. Do you know what tensing up does when you've got a wound in your ass?"

I follow and Carson is close behind me.

Our gear rests on the benches, and we begin to hook the weapons to our vest clips. I am sliding extra ammunition into my pockets, when John stops, and stares at Rodney, who is doing the same.

"What are you doing?" asks John, confused.

Rodney checks the clip on his pistol, then pushes it into his thigh holster with forced comfort. He looks up and says, "Getting ready to die; what does it look like?"

"You're not going, McKay." John's refusal is flat and final.

"Ronon's a member of my team, too," Rodney argues. "I didn't come all this way to appreciate the Armageddon view!"

"You're wounded, and you're not going. Carson, stay on VOX. We get Ronon, we get out of here. Nice, fast and clean. Stay cloaked, and if anything happens…" John drifts off for a moment and looks at me. I nod knowingly and he finishes, "Get back to the Daedalus. No heroics."

John is adjusting his belt and tucking Ronon's blaster that we retrieved from Keturah's village into his vest, and while he is preoccupied, I see the look Carson and Rodney exchange. I know what it means. They will not leave, and I do not blame them. I know John would not want them to risk their lives, but it is not his right to deny him the very thing he is doing now for Ronon.

The hatch lowers, and though Rodney is still close to the edge, his pistol in place, he does not argue further, and we are soon outside, exposed on the rooftop. Before the hatch has retracted, we are running for the door that leads into the building.

It does not take us long to find the room with Ronon. John leads in, and spies the wraith device in the air, its attention on Ronon. He shoots it without waiting to say a word. Ronon is barely standing, but the noise of our arrival, and John's shooting the device, causes him to lurch forward slightly, confused.

"Don't look so surprised," soothes John, the gun in Ronon's hand leveled at his chest. For a moment, I feel fear spike – does he not recognize us? But Ronon lowers the weapon and falls back.

"Are you okay?" I ask. He looks far from it, but it is a courtesy that is ingrained in me. Rodney would have greeted him with a caustic statement about how awful Ronon looked, but that is not me, despite how true the observation would be.

John steps closer to Ronon, and out of practice from prior missions, I keep watch over the door. "Come on, you can thank us later," John says. "McKay and Beckett are waiting for us in a Jumper on the roof."

The gun comes up, again, and Ronon's voice is dangerous. "I'm not going anywhere."

I am splitting my attention between the door, and what is happening between John and Ronon. I see John's face slip from one of relief at finding Ronon alive, to one of…I don't know the word for it. It is as a parent would make with a child that is insisting on one more shoulder ride before bed. Ronon is being stubborn, and now is not a good time for him to behave so.

Over the radio, I hear Rodney demand, "What is going on down there? You have at least 25 wraith closing in on your position from ground level!"

John is surprisingly calm; calmer then I feel. "Seems Ronon doesn't wanna leave."

"Well too bad," Rodney snaps angrily. "You tell that ungrateful example of unevolved humanity that we came all this way to rescue him so he better get off his ass --"

I grimace at the harsh words, but partially agree with Rodney. I am watching the door uneasily. The wraith will be upon us soon, and I do not wish any of us to die this day, yet, Ronon's stubbornness is not helping.

"McKay says he's very hurt that you won't come with us," John paraphrases wisely, and I can hear the underlying humor in his tone. Some day I will ask John how he manages to remain as unaffected as he does under times of high stress. I have seen him passionate, angry, and frustrated many times, yet, there are enough times like this, where in the face of a situation that is anything less then welcome, he remains steady in the face of disaster.

"I can't," grunts Ronon, tired.

The door remains empty, yet I can hear the sounds of footsteps echoing below. They are coming. I look again at Ronon, then back to the door. We will be fighting soon, whether we wish it or not.

"Keturah and his people, they had a deal. They traded me for their freedom."

I feel as incredulous as John sounds when he snarls, "You're doing this for them? Those _people_, the ones on the planet that turned you over to the wraith?"

By the time John has finished, his words are no longer calm, and I can feel the anger radiating from him. I feel the same. Ronon's honor is greatly misplaced.

He doesn't react to John's disbelief. "It was my fault they were culled," he states flatly.

This is madness. "Ronon, the wraith didn't honor the deal," I hiss, looking over my shoulder at him. He should have known better, but then again, Ronon has proved to be gullible in the past. He is too trusting for his own good. "Keturah, and his village, they're all dead."

When I am finished, he looks up at me, tortured emotions racing across his features. I can feel the sense of betrayal, but they are _wraith._ He should have known better.

"Now, can we go?" John asks, impatiently. He feels as I do, and hears; the wraith will soon be on our level.

"No."

Ronon's answer is forceful and unequivocal.

John pulls back, frustration even more evident now. I feel the same. "Why not?"

Again, it is as if John is dealing with a child, refusing to sleep, even after the parent has explained for the tenth time that it is impossible for monsters to come for them in the night. It never worked for me as a child, because there was nothing my father could say or promise, that would keep me safe from the wraith.

Furiously, Ronon snarls, "Because I'm gonna kill the wraith responsible for all of this."

I reluctantly understand Ronon's motives in refusing to leave. And I see in John that he does as well.

"I don't suppose he happens to be one of the ones out there that's about to come in here?" John asks.

"No, he's probably still up on the Hive."

Ronon's admission is tired, but in no way, defeated. I look at him again…he is being unrealistic. "We can't take on a Hive ship now."

"You won't have to."

Before I can ask what he means by that, Rodney is back on VOX demanding, "Why aren't you moving?"

I do not say what I am thinking, and John answers, "Ronon wants to take care of a few things first."

I can see in him the understanding of what Ronon feels he must do, and that John believes it can be done, but I am not so sure. Before I can insert a word of caution, Rodney retorts with, "Oh, really, like what?" and with the same sarcasm that I am feeling inside but have been unable to voice.

Like revenge, I want to say. And revenge is often useless. I have seen Ronon's revenge before, and it is still a sore point with me. He used me to get to Kell, and while he has not repeated the same error in judgment since, it is not something easily forgotten.

But John is approaching Ronon, and holding his hand out for Ronon to pull himself up. He doesn't answer Rodney; instead, he speaks to Ronon, resigned. "Come on. Let's go kill some wraith."

Ronon takes John's hand, and pulls himself up, groaning from the effort.

And he plans on killing those wraith in his condition? When he can barely stand? He is foolish.

As he walks past John, he growls, "Just stay out of my way." He is limping towards me, when John calls, "Hey!" He unzips his vest a little and pulls the weapon free. "Thought you might want this."

John is going to let Ronon have his revenge, and now I do not know who I wish to berate more, John or Ronon.

Ronon takes the gun without so much as a twitch of gratitude, so lost in his anger over what has transpired. John calls, "You're welcome," as Ronon slips past me. Even with a limp, he moves with stealth.

We have both forgotten that Rodney is waiting, and his voice returns, loud and worried. "What the hell is going on down there?"

As John moves past me, wishing to take the lead, I fall in behind, and we enter the corridor. This building is an old hospital, and as we descend towards the wraith that are working up towards us, I cannot help but feel the death all around us, both old and new.

"Ronon thinks he can get the head wraith responsible for all of this to come down and fight him if we kill all of these wraith first." John is explaining to Rodney, even as we run down the stairs. I can no longer see Ronon, but I hear the shots echoing. He has already reached the wraith.

Rodney snaps, "That is the stupidest plan I have ever heard!"

I almost remind Rodney of some of his plans, but John is faster than I am. "I don't know, killing a bunch of wraith really seems like a good idea to me."

We pass two wraith, dead.

Rodney says, "They outnumber you 25 to 3."

We are all on Vox, so I hear Carson interject, "It's actually 22 to 3…21."

I hear the continuing gunfire, and I add, "And Ronon appears to be quite angry." I'm breathing heavily from chasing John and Ronon down the stairs

The situation has quickly escalated out of control, and Rodney's sarcastic, "Oh that evens it out. You do realize there's a Hive ship in orbit capable of blowing us all off the face of this planet!" is not helping.

We realize, and yet, we are still chasing Ronon into a corridor. There are two wraith warriors approaching John from the side, and he quickly dispatches them, only to spin ninety degrees and take out another. I have wraith approaching from behind me, and I quickly kill them, only for John to turn and shoot one of the other warriors again when it sits up. They have self destruct mechanisms, and we cannot let them activate one, or this building might fall upon us.

Even as we fight off more wraith, a communication device like we saw in the room with Ronon earlier, flies near. John shoots it, only for it to spin away, towards me. I finish the device off, disgusted. It is yet another reminder that our lives are nothing to the wraith. _Nothing_.

We are running alongside one another now, Ronon still out of sight, and we take out more wraith, firing together. When we turn around, Ronon is there. The wraith are taken care of, and John says to Rodney, "That's it, we got 'em all…"

When there's no reply, he narrows his eyes and says, "McKay?"

Rodney sounds surprised, "Yes, it's just you guys left…well, that was quick."

John slides a satisfied look my way. "Yeah, I got six, Teyla got…"

I don't hesitate to answer, "Eight." Keeping count of how many wraith I kill is something I take seriously.

John pauses. "I got nine, Teyla got eight. Ronon got the rest."

He is not looking at me when he says the new number, but nonetheless, I skim a tolerant look his way. John is at times like a little boy, and he does not realize it only makes me care more.

Another device has flown in, and before we can shoot this one, Ronon approaches, twisting his head. "You wanna watch me die up close, you're just gonna have to come down here and do it yourself!" His limbs are hanging tight from his shoulders, and the desperate anger is so thick I can touch it. Ronon wants this. "You want me," he screams. "Come and get me…I'll be waiting." How he finishes calmly only makes a shiver run up my spine. This is the Ronon that will kill anything or anyone in his way.

I look sideways at John and see the same realization on his face. This is a Ronon that is very dangerous. Primal.

When Ronon walks past Sheppard, he pauses, then says low, "You kill him before I do, I kill you."

"What if he kills you first?" John asks.

Ronon does not even hesitate. "Then you kill him."

His death means nothing to him right now, but we do not feel the same. Still, this is not the time to point that out, and John wisely nods and says, "Got it."

But he looks across at me in a way that says a lot more.

We let Ronon go, and John leads us to a place on the roof. We have a clear view of Ronon, and we watch as the wraith dart screams in, beaming the one responsible in front of Ronon.

Here, in the ruins of his world, in a street that only has a clearing down the middle, I see in Ronon the belief that _this_ one wraith is responsible for it all. For the death of his people, his world, Keturah's village…this wraith is temporarily the embodiment of _everything_ the wraith have done to Ronon, and everyone else in our galaxy.

This is something that John cannot possibly hope to understand, as he raises his weapon, and sights on the wraith.

Ronon's screams do not startle me. He is hurting, physically and mentally. Does he believe he will win? I am not so sure. Part of me wonders if Ronon is doing this in hopes that he will lose. Being back here, the memories…it could not have been easy.

The wraith backhands Ronon as effortlessly as if he is a child, and Ronon flies into the side of a building, hitting very hard. He falls to the ground, and I clutch my gun tighter. As the wraith strikes Ronon again, John says, "I can shoot him right now." His voice is tight. He does not wish to watch this mockery of a battle. Ronon was already injured, and a wraith against a human…they are very strong.

Still, at least for now, I shake my head. "I wouldn't."

Ronon is still on his feet, and he is still fighting. If John ended it now, I do not think Ronon would be able to accept the loss of his revenge so easily.

"You really think Ronon would kill me?"

It is not that. Ronon would not kill John, of that I am certain. "I think he wouldn't forgive you," I tell John honestly.

But still, we both have our weapons ready, and we are watching someone we have grown to care about, beaten and tossed like a child's plaything, and it is not easy. The words that John spoke to me on the Daedalus are not far from my mind, and I understand that holding his fire is taking more then he will admit.

"I think he'd get over it."

Maybe he would, but I look upward. "The Hive has got to be watching. We shoot that wraith, it blasts us all from space."

I do not waste breath in using politeness. We are in a bad position, and John is well aware.

The wraith has Ronon on his back, standing over him, and for a moment I feel my own finger tighten on the trigger. Then Ronon is up, and fighting back. It is only a momentary reprieve before the wraith throws him back to the ground, and now Ronon is crawling away. I send a worried look at John. Perhaps we should act now, and risk the Hive ship…though I cautioned him earlier, I do not think either of us will be able to let the inevitable happen. The only decision is when to act.

It is when the wraith has stalked him lazily, flips him, and kneels, his hand raised, that Rodney and Carson take the decision from our hands. The Jumper uncloaks, large and menacing, just behind Ronon, and inwardly I cheer.

When the drone fires, strikes the wraith, and drives him back into a building, before the drone and the wraith erupt into a massive explosion, we move instantly. We know the Hive ship has seen it as well.

As we grab Ronon, lifting him between us, the Jumper has turned, and the rear hatch has opened. An explosion chases us forward, and we fall in, dropping Ronon to the floor of the ship. We quickly grab the netting to keep from falling as another explosion rocks the ship.

John bangs on the door to the cockpit. "Go!"

As we lift into the air, the rear hatch closes, and I feel weak relief. We are all alive.

I finally have enough presence of mind to help Ronon to the bench. John is a moment behind me, and helps ease him the rest of the way. Ronon is a bloody mess, and I know he will be spending at least the night in the infirmary…but he is alive.

There had been a time when I had believed he was gone, that we would not see him again. When I had walked through the devastated village, and amongst the dead, it had seemed the end for Ronon.

A night in the infirmary is a small price to pay.

The door between the rear of the Jumper and the front opens. Carson is the first to appear, but I see Rodney behind him.

"Is everyone okay?" Carson asks, worried.

I nod, feeling another wave of relief, as I can answer, "We are okay."

We are not dead, we have survived. _All_ of us.

"Which one of you killed the wraith?" Ronon's voice is gravelly, rough from the abuse his body has taken.

I watch, suddenly uneasy, as Rodney and Carson share proud smiles. Carson admits, "That would be me."

Rodney raises his finger and adds happily, "My idea."

When Ronon pulls himself up, using the cargo net to help him, I sternly call, "Ronon!" I realize he did not wish for help, but he was near death, and expecting any of us to wait –

"What?" Carson's startled reply interrupts my thoughts. "Don't tell me you're not happy that he's dead?"

John is rueful as he explains, "I had him in my sights, but Ronon said he'd kill me if I shot him."

"It was all Beckett's idea," claims Rodney, pointing at Carson.

I do not let Rodney believe for a moment he is fooling anyone. The tension is only slightly real, because though I do think a part of Ronon wanted to die, I think a larger part of him wishes to live. The wraith was going to win, and I believe he is well aware of that fact.

When Ronon moves forward, grabs Carson and engulfs him in a hug, mumbling, "Thanks, Doc," I am not so surprised as the rest.

Carson's soft, "Oh," says a great deal.

"What? Him you thank?" Rodney's outrage is met by a surprisingly patient glance from Ronon.

"I could've killed him at any time, but Teyla wouldn't let me!"

My smile over the exchange between Ronon, Carson and Rodney is derailed by John's annoyed statement. I spare a dirty look his way. I did not take his weapon from him, nor bind his hands behind his back.

Ronon's anger has disappeared, and I believe the fact is truly sinking in now – the fact that he is alive, rescued, and among friends, again. That he has a home, and we did not leave him to die at the hands of the wraith. "Thank you," he says, his voice still rough and low, husky. "All of you."

He pats Rodney on the shoulder, because Ronon understands Rodney just as much as I do.

Rodney's smile is unaccountably pleased. "Oh, don't mention it."

John's grin is back, as he adds, "It was nothing, really. I only killed eleven, twelve wraith…"

I look at John and raise an eyebrow. Really. This tendency he has for over exaggeration makes me wonder…

Carson assesses Ronon with his eyes. "How 'bout you sit down and I get that tracking device out of you, and deactivated before the Hive ship gets a bead on us. I take it this time you won't mind if I give you a sedative."

We all turn to look as Ronon stares for a moment at Carson, then slumps to the side, and falls to the floor.

"Or not." Carson looks for a moment at Rodney, before beginning to bend towards Ronon. Surprised by Ronon's faint, I lose my thoughts about John's feelings of inadequacy over wraith kills. I was not aware he was that badly injured. As I bend down to assist Carson, I hear John ask Rodney, "Who's flying the ship?"

Rodney's fast, "Me?" makes me smile even as Carson rolls Ronon and begins the task of preparing him to remove the tracking device.

Despite the odds, John's family is, once again, intact. And perhaps, they have also become my family, and for Ronon, as well. I know that there are still those that will always regard us as outsiders, but it is enough that _these_ people do not.

…**coming soon, Progeny tag!**


End file.
